


Summer Brings Solace

by astralbarnes



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aura Reading, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Matchmaker Wanda Maximoff, Memory Magic, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Multi, Mutant Powers, Mutant Reader, Mutant Rights, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Not Canon Compliant, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Avengers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Natasha Romanov, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Trauma, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Psychometry, Reader-Insert, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture, Visions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-04-06 22:39:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralbarnes/pseuds/astralbarnes
Summary: Peter Parker has just graduated from Midtown High School and plans to spend his summer interning with none other than Tony Stark. Or at least that’s what he’ll tell Aunt May. In actual fact he’ll be continuing his work with the Avengers. But none of that - or anything else for that matter - could’ve prepared him for meeting her.At thirteen her parents were brutally murdered for their invaluable research on mutants - herself included - by a secret government cooperative. When Tony Stark became her legal guardian he choose to send her to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters in order to help her gain further control of her powers whilst remaining protected. But unfortunately it didn't last long. It's been four years since she was kidnapped and after being rescued by The Avengers she's remained in a trauma induced state of catatonia. That is until summer begins.In short a story about recovery, friendship, late night conversations and the bliss of eating ice cream on a hot day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> MY WHOLE FIC GOT DELETED!!
> 
> I don't know how it happened but the original was deleted so I'm reposting. I'm so uspet, this story means so much to me. And all the kudos and comments people previously left were so incredibly nice and encouraging it was the first time I felt less insecure about my writing, so I'm sad to have lost that. I hope people find this and continue to read it! 
> 
> Please leave comments or kudos if you wish, it does mean a lot xxxx

One of the nurses on the psychiatric floor had developed a habit of visiting room 512 on her mid-morning breaks. Perhaps it was because that room had an exceptionally comfy couch - courtesy of Tony Stark – or maybe it was the natural light in the room that made it an ideal place for reading. But if Amaya was to be completely honest with herself it’s because she has hope for the one patient who occupies the room - _you_.

It’s been a few months since you were admitted into the facility. Despite the fact that every day saw no change in your condition, nothing threatened to dismantle the old woman’s faith that you would return to yourself. It wasn't a shared belief amongst the other nurses or doctors. As they had told Tony when you were first brought in your prognosis was unpromising.

Still Amaya is waiting for the day your eyes shift out of their million mile away stare and regain a sense of life. The haunting darkness that usually consumes them sends shivers down her spine and she can only imagine what kind of horrors plague your mind. But the nurse believes that as long as the earth is revolving around the sun, then one day your conscious will return to the present. Hopefully that day comes soon.

It was Charles Xavier, who shed a light on the correlation between your psychic capabilities and your catatonic state when you were first found. It appeared to him as though your mind was overworking to process the severe psychological torture you had endured. And in doing so you had fallen into a retro-cognitive trance while you revisited key moments from the last four years. Thus leaving you unable to function on a normal human level. It had also been Charles, who suggested that Tony admit you into this facility, designed specifically for mutants. And Amaya has been watching over you ever since.

Pushing the door to your room open with her hip, she holds a mug of coffee and a paper bag in her hands, as well as a copy of _One Thousands and One Nights_ tucked under her arm. It's a book filled with Middle Eastern folk tales that she has been reading to you for the last month.

“Good Morning, Y/N.” Amaya always greets you when she enters the room, despite knowing it wasn’t likely she would receive a response. The first few times the woman had felt strange, talking to someone who couldn’t respond, but it had come to feel natural to communicate with you albeit one sided.

Amaya places her items down on the table positioned beside the couch placed against the far right wall of your room. Afterwards, she walks towards the blinds that cover the windows higher up on the wall. It takes standing on her tiptoes and a slight jump to pull the blind cord down to allow natural light into the room. Once it’s down Amaya turns around to smile at you.

“It’s the first day of summer, dear, Mr. Stark told me it’s your favourite season!”

Amaya knows she shouldn’t expect a reaction from you still she can’t help but hope for it. The stories Tony had shared about your love for the warmer months - filled with ice cream on the beach, Coney Island, and sun kissed skin - during his visits had only made her heartache for your situation. And the more she had learnt about you, the stronger her hope for your recovery grew.

With a dejected sigh, Amaya takes a seat on the couch. Picking up the old book that she had previously discarded on the table she opens it. After scanning the contents page, Amaya begins flicking through the pages in search of the story she wishes to read to you today. The sound of pages turning fills the otherwise silent room as she seeks the tale of a king’s adventure on a late summer night.

Once she finds the page she’s looking for Amaya holds the book open in one hand whilst the other reaches for her mug of coffee. As she lifts the cup to her lips, she glances over to your still form. Your eyes stare blankly at the wall to her right and the only movement of your body is in the breaths you take. And before she can look back down at the book to begin to read, your eyes flicker up to meet hers, for the first time, _ever_.

In her surprise the mug slips out of her grip, it hits against her knee, before toppling to the ground with a loud smash. Which is enough to jolt you from the lingering traces of your stupor. As you sit up in the bed you pay no mind to the shocked nurse, but instead you cast your sights down to the smashed remains of her mug. 

"At least it was an ugly mug,” the words tumble out of your lips – voice scratchy and unused, causing an itch to rise in your throat – before you can process what’s happening.

It’s enough to draw Amaya out of her own state of shock. Slowly she closes her book, placing it beside her on the couch, before she stands. Brushing down her nurses' scrubs you watch her as she watches you, both your gazes careful. And then she smiles softly at you. There is more warmth directed at you behind her hazel eyes than you’ve seen in years and you don’t need to use any of your abilities to feel certain she means you no harm.

“I hated that mug,” Amaya tells you and your lips twitch into a small smile.

As she nears closer you can feel the familiar thrumming of her conscience against your temple and if you wanted to, you could search the crevices of her mind to learn her past, present, and future in mere minutes. But what had once filled you with a burning curiosity now has your gut reeling with nausea. The thought of using your powers makes you feel sick and the smile drops off your face as you recall all you’ve witnessed.

“How are you feeling? Do you need anything dear?” Amaya’s eyes gaze down at you, filled with undeniable concern and curiosity.

It’s been a long time since anyone has asked you questions about your well being, this woman is a caregiver, and completely trustworthy. You’re certain that if you didn’t already know where you were or how you got here you would have a million questions. But you had watched it all unfold mere minutes before your gaze shifted to see Amaya sitting on the couch.

“Could I –“ your voice cracks causing the words to catch in your throat, but luckily Amaya seems to know what you’re asking for as she steps away from the bed. The small table beside your bed holds a pitcher of water, as well as several plastic cups and straws.

When she returns, it’s with a cup of water in hand. Propping yourself up on your elbows, Amaya steps forward once more and holds the cup to your mouth. You catch the straw between your teeth and eagerly begin to drink the water. It quenches your thirst, reducing the sting in your throat, and you can’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed over how Amaya is assisting you in what would normally be a simple task.

“Thank you,” you say to Amaya once the cup is empty. Another smile graces her features before she steps away from the bed, and discards the cup back onto the table.

As she turns back to face you, the curiosity has returned to her gaze as she surveys you. With or without your psychic abilities you have a pretty good idea about what question she is going to ask you. “Do you know what pulled you out of your catatonic state, dear?”

You shake your head, no. A look of disappointment momentarily casts her features into a frown but it disappears before you can question it. With her gaze now focused on the floor and her expression thoughtful, you attempt to describe what happened.

“I was witnessing the day I was brought here and then I heard you mention summer and I –“ You pause, wringing your hands together in nervousness; you can barely comprehend what happened, let alone explain it. “I don’t know, my mind wasn’t somewhere else anymore, I was _here_.”

Amaya looks up from the floor and her expression softens as she notices your anxious state. “I need to call in your doctors,” she tells you. You nod absently watching as she pats down her scrubs in search of something, “I should’ve done that earlier,” she mutters to herself.

When she finally retrieves what she was searching for – her pager – Amaya sends what you presume is an alert to the necessary staff. Mere seconds after she finished fiddling with the device you hear it buzz in her hand, she reads over the message she received before looking back to you. Amaya sighs. “They'll be here as soon as they can,” she flicks her wrist around, eyes dropping to the flashy watch you hadn’t before noticed. “I have other patients who I need to check on and my break is definitely over. But I’ll return shortly with your doctors, ok dear?”

Once more you nod absently. As your mind has already begun drifting towards all that you saw in what was the longest episode of retro-cognition you’ve ever experienced. After all the psychological torture you endured your body needed to shut down, in order for your mind to process what happened to you and all the variations of the future you were forced to examine.

The sound of the door handle turning pulls you out of your reverie and you look up to see Amaya about to leave. And suddenly you recall what you had forgotten to ask her about. It’s not as though you can’t find these answers yourself, it’s just you would much rather have her tell you, she’s kind and warm, and trekking through the past is often anything but.

“Wait!”

Amaya’s hand tightens around the handle as she pulls the door closed again and turns to face you. “Yes, dear?”

“H-How has Tony been doing? And Pepper?”

“They visit you almost every day, dear, whenever they don’t have prior engagements, and they’ll be alerted of _this_ ,” Amaya pauses to smile gently as she gestures at you. “After the doctors undergo their assessments over the change in your condition,” she informs before leaving you by yourself. It's the first time in years you have been truly left alone.

&

The doctors are _finally_ finished with their examinations - which were invasive and uncomfortable – and Amaya has informed you that Tony will be here any minute. Your apprehension has reached its peak. It’s been years since you last saw Tony. While what Amaya told you and all that you’ve seen implies he still cares deeply about you, you can’t ignore the part of you that suspects otherwise. It seems you can’t help but fear that maybe he won’t want you in his life any more; maybe he didn’t really miss you or worry about you.

That’s all _they_ had told for years. _No one is coming for you. You think that man in the suit of amour gives a damn about one girl?_ They taunted you, toying with your deepest fears. They laughed at you when you didn’t have any visions of being rescued, of the torture ever ending. It was your hope that continued to allow you to push yourself to try and see something, anything, that showed you Tony was still searching for you. And although he never gave up on you, their words still buried themselves into the corners of your mind, growing on your fear and doubt, they became near impossible to ignore. Even now that you’re free, you know you never will feel truly liberated from the pain they caused you.

But all your fears momentarily cease when Tony Stark walks through the door. It’s been a few years yet he still looks like the Tony you remember. He's even wearing his beloved _Black Sabbath_ t-shirt. He’s a little more rugged now – rough around the edges, you know he’s endured a lot – but he’s still your Tony. The one few others know.

He is the Tony who took you to Coney Island for your sixth birthday because your parents were too busy with their research. Who shared his favourite music with you. Who taught you everything you know that's related to science. And who always supported you, no matter what. Warm and kind is how you've always seen Tony at least behind the arrogant disposition he shows the world.

There’s a definite level of relief in his gaze as he looks at you, and it’s not something you ever expected the billionaire to have a necessity to feel. “Hey kiddo,” He greets.

A full fledge smile pulls up your lips at the endearment behind the nickname. It's one he’s been calling you for as long as you can remember. He returns your smile with ease. And although you’ve seen Tony smile a lot over the course of your life, never has it been this bright or genuine or warm. It breaks a wall down in you, one you didn't realise you had put in place the moment you returned to the present day. Suddenly all the emotions come flooding out of you, the smile falling off your face.

“I missed you, so much," You take a shaky breath, not missing the way Tony's eyebrows furrow with concern. "They told me I wouldn’t ever see you again and I –“ A sob cuts the words off in your throat.

In frantic movements you push away the bed sheets, and stumble out of the bed. Your legs are shaky as you’re not used to standing on your own two feet, but luckily Tony seems to understand what you’re trying to do. He catches you with ease, pulling you into him, wrapping his arms gently around your frame. Before the tears can fall you return the gesture, clasping your arms tightly around his shoulders, and hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

Tony isn’t use to this kind of physical affection. It's overwhelming, the way you’re clutching onto him with a vice grip. One that begs for him to never let you go - again - and he doesn’t plan on ever doing so. The tears finally fall as you begin to shake against him, and he only holds you tighter. Words can’t provide any form of comfort for what you’ve been through, Tony knows this, so he stays quiet. He lets you cry against him for all that you’ve lost and all that you thought you would never regain.

When you finally loosen your grip around his torso your arms drop to your sides as you take a step back. You wipe a hand under your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor. You don't dare look up to meet whatever lies behind Tony’s gaze – pity, disgust – you’re expecting the worst. And he seems to realise this.

Tony places a finger under your chin and gently, but with force he lifts your face up to look at him. His brown eyes hold nothing but understanding and concern for you. “You need to listen to me for a second, ok?”

You don't trust yourself to speak so you nod, now unable to look away from the earnest gaze he holds.

“What happened to you, should’ve never happened, and I’m – I’m so sorry that it did, kiddo. I know there’s nothing I can do to change the past, but if you still want me to, I’d like to be a part of your life, in whatever form you’ll take.”

The sincerity behind his words manages to surprise you, and fresh tears brim in your eyes. “You and Pepper, you’re the only family I’ve got left." You pause to wipe away the tears. "And I don’t blame you for what happened, Tony, not in the slightest, there’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent it. That question should really be the other way around; do you still want me in your life? Because I’m all sorts of messed up now.”

Tony snorts at the absurdity of what you’re implying. “You’ll fit right in where we’re going, kiddo. Also do you think I’m letting you out of my sight after what happened?”

You can't help but smile. “You’ve certainly fallen into your superhero role, huh?”

Tony grins and nods. “You should know by now, sweetheart, I excel at everything I do.”

A laugh escapes you and Tony pulls you into his chest, for another hug, with a sigh. Despite his arrogance – which never bothered you – without Tony or any of the Avengers you wouldn’t be here, you would likely be dead. And that's something you'll never be able to repay him (or any of them) for. "Thank you, Tony."

He drops a kiss to the crown of your head, "Anytime, kiddo. Now let’s get you _home_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally head back to New York and on the drive something - or someone - distinct catches your eye.

“That won’t be possible just yet, Mr. Stark.”

Standing in the doorway, that you had been preparing to finally walk out of, you spot a man with sharp hazel eyes dressed in a lab coat surveying the both of you. Behind him you can barely see Amaya with her hands full of items you can’t quite distinguish.

Tony stiffens and drops his arm from around your shoulder. You know he has encountered this man before. From the energy you could feel passing between them in the back of your mind there was a power struggle here and it is one Tony wouldn’t like to lose. Not again.

“And why is that, Doc?” Tony asks and by the way he address your doctor there is a definite lack of mutual respect between them.

The doctor sighs. “Although we have performed the necessary physiological and neurological test upon her conscious awakening there have not yet been tests done on her psychological or emotional state.”

Tony crosses his arms over his chest, “Your point being?” He prompts.

Hazel eyes narrow in a look of distaste and it makes your stomach clench with unease. The doctor begins to explain his point although you know he thinks he shouldn’t have to, “Given the extent of the trauma she has endured, stated in your mission reports from when she was rescued, we can only assume that she will be facing episodes of PTSD, and anxiety, among other things. It’s my duty as her physician to ensure that her psychological needs are met.”

This objectification of you as simply a list of symptoms that are by products of your trauma causes a feeling of frustration to begin to burn out your earlier unease. It is clear as day to everyone in the room, that you’ve experienced your fair share of trauma but that is not all you are. It can’t be.

“And as her guardian I can confidently say she won’t be needing any psychological assistance once she returns home, which is where I was planning on taking her before you reappeared.”

That’s the final straw for you, “Stop it!”

Emotions pump through you with ferocity you’re not use to and it ignites willpower in you that you previously thought you’d lost. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here and that I’m not part of this decision, it’s my life we’re talking about. _Please_. I’ve been treated that way for far too long.”

Both Tony and your doctor have the decency to look embarrassed, the former wrapping his arm back around your shoulder and giving you an apologetic squeeze. Shooting him a brief smile you then return your attention back to your doctor.

With a look of indifference you ask, “I would like to know of my options, particularly those that can be arranged back home, in New York, Doctor?”

“Johnston," he clarifies, "And alright then, since you are over eighteen and ultimately this is your life, I’ll let Nurse Nazari go through those with you, and there will be some more paperwork before you’re discharged.” He doesn't sound pleased with this turn of events but you suspect that deep down he does want what's best for you.

“Thank you, Doctor Johnston."

Tony makes a surprised noise when you elbow him sharply in his side but he gets the message and thanks Doctor Johnston as well. Once your doctor leaves the room Amaya steps forward. And you can finally see the items she holds. A pile of clothes is tucked under one arm and a clipboard is held in the opposing hand, you suspect she knew how things would play out with Doctor Johnston and Tony.

Once again her kind and warm eyes meet yours, if you weren’t so perceptive you doubt you would’ve notice the gleam of pride in them as well. A supportive smile appears on her face as she hands you the change of clothes, ushering you towards the bathroom, where you’re allowed another moment alone since regaining your full consciousness.

The small bathroom has a shower, a toilet and a sink with a mirror above it. You carefully place your newfound clothes on top of the toilet before turning to face the mirror. The sight you’re met with has you gripping the sink for stability. It’s you, or what’s left of you, you think bitterly. There are bags upon bags under your eyes, and although there is life in your appearance, your cheeks are fuller than they would’ve been when you first arrived here and your hair is notably longer, there’s still a hollowness in your eyes. And that’s what really hurts you.

Those men, they took something from you, ebbed away at the remainder of your naivety, your innocence, and now you once again have it reaffirmed for you just how cruel life can be. Slowly you release your tight grip from the sink and turn the tap on. Splashing some cool water on your face in an attempt to calm yourself, you start to think that you should be fucking grateful you’re alive, not everyone is. But you can’t think about that right now, not unless you want to have another psychotic breakdown.

So you turn the water off and remove your hospital gown. It takes all your self control to not inspect the scars that mar your skin, the reminders of your time _there_ , of the years lost, of the pain caused…With haste to escape those thoughts you grab the clothes of the toilet lid. Fumbling with soft grey sweatpants you pull them on and shakily tie the drawstring, you can’t let your thoughts wander, you can’t let the memories take over, you can’t. Once you pull the matching grey t-shirt on you turn to the mirror again. Ignoring the hollowness in your eyes proves to be a challenge so instead you focus on your hair, it seems someone – probably Pepper or Natasha – looked after it for you, it’s soft to touch as you run a hand through it. Forcing a smile on your face, you force down the memories, the pain, the burning sensation of the scars you know will never fade and you push the door back open.

Amaya and Tony are sat on the couch waiting for you, with soft, supportive and warm smiles on their faces. It’s a reminder that you’re safe, you’re capable; you’re going to be ok. They’ll make sure of it. And so will you.

You agree to receive weekly counselling in the comfort of the Avenger’s tower and return to the facility once a month for routine check-ups on your physiological and neurological conditions. Amaya hands over the clipboard for you to sign in several different places and then she explains that they will email Tony with all the necessary information about your care, medication and so on from here on out. Lastly she hands you a pair of socks and trainers. Shoes are a feeling you’ve long since forgotten. But you thank her with a soft smile and quickly slip them on.

When you all stand to leave you pause at the door and turn to Amaya, “Will you be here when I come back for check-ups?”

Amaya smiles at you and that constant warmth in her eyes brightens, “Of course, dear, there’s no getting rid of me!”

With that you and Tony are free to be on your way.

&

After a solid hour of driving – which consisted mostly of Tony insisting on playing songs such as _Back in Black_ and _Paranoid_ on repeat – you can finally see the Manhattan skyline in the distance.

It’s a sight you’ve loved from a young age and you can make out the distinct shape of the Avenger’s Tower with ease. It’s always been your favourite building among the various skyscrapers. And despite how often people would point out the more historical or architecturally pleasing pieces, you never failed to correct them. Uncle Tony - as you referred to him at the time - owned that building, therefore it was the best and no one could persuade you into thinking otherwise.

Propping your elbow up by the window and leaning your cheek against your hand, you let your gaze shift to your immediate surroundings. They’ve begun to become familiar. It seems you’re nearing Corona Park in Queens – it’s the burrow you’re most familiar with after Manhattan – and was once one of you’re favourite places to lose track of time.

It was your mother who insisted on spending time here whilst you were growing up, it was where she had lived when first moving to the city. To her it was a place that evoked character, and that is the same thing Steve had always said about Brooklyn. But it wasn’t until after your parents had passed away that you begun to truly understand what that really meant.

There’s something special about Queens.

It doesn’t have the same urgency in the atmosphere as Manhattan; it’s calmer, and quieter here but as unique as any of the other burrows. Its diversity and openness is something you always loved experiencing when you were younger. Every time you visited this area of the city you would immediately feel more at ease and today seems to be no different - it’s almost as though you can pretend the past few years never occurred.

As you reach the park and begin to pass by it in a blur of varying shades of green, you unwind your window, and you can feel Tony’s gaze drifting from the road every so often to watch you. But he doesn’t argue, he doesn’t even make a comment, which is unlike him.

The breeze hits your face at full force, as you place your arms on the frame and lean forward out the window, yet you welcome the sensation. It’s freeing and comforting all at once, just as you’ve always known Queens to be. And right now it’s exactly what you need - the familiar sense of solace. A comfort that reminds you, you’re _alive_.

The sounds of the streets are familiar to you, as are the varying colours and displays in the shop fronts, so you let your eyes drift to the taller buildings above. Watching as the sun continues to peak out in the gaps between buildings, before disappearing as they continue to grow in a height that surpasses the suns position in the sky.

As you get closer to Queensboro Bridge, something distinct in the sky catches your eye. It’s flashes of red and blue, which take the shape of a person, who appears to be swinging between the buildings. Keeping your gaze locked on them is a lot easier than one might think considering their continuous movements but you’ve always been good at anticipating things. You manage to watch as they swing onto the bridge, landing on the highest arch of its curve, and sitting in a squatted position. The colours of their costume stand out greatly against the dull shades of Manhattan and if anyone actually knows whom they are, you’re certain, it’s the person sitting next to you.

“Tony,” you begin, shifting away from the window to face him, “what do you know about someone swinging, literally, through Queens dressed in a red and blue costume?” You ask, before winding up the window and shutting off the growing sounds of the city.

A small grin tugs up the corners of Tony’s mouth. “You must be talking about New York City’s very own _Spiderling_ ,” He says and his tone borders on sounding proud.

You give Tony a look, wanting to know more, but he simply rolls his eyes playfully and says, “Don’t worry, you’ll meet him soon.”

Deciding to drop the topic, for now, you look back outside trying to spot the red and blue figure again, now that you’re passing over the bridge, but it’s to no avail. Instead, you turn around to look over your seat and out the back window, watching as Queens disappears behind you, but somehow you know you’ll be back soon.

There’s a feeling in your gut that tells you so. It seems you’ll be spending a lot more time in Queens during the coming months and it’ll have something to do with whoever is hidden under the _Spiderling’s_ mask. And you’re certain that there’s far more to him than you could _ever_ imagine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper, feelings and ice cream.

“Home, sweet home!” Tony smiles as he pulls into the tower's underground garage.

The tower looks different, you know it’s because of the various upgrades and refurnishing it’s had in your absence, but when you step out of the car it doesn’t feel different. There’s still that sense of familiarity and comfort, it’s a feeling you use to get when you would come here during breaks from school, as you walk between the various vehicles towards the elevator. It’s that feeling of finally being back at home. And now there’s an underlying curiosity, which is something you haven’t felt in a while. So you welcome the feeling with ease, you let the rush of curiosity flood over your remaining doubts and anxieties because now there’s new things to discover and that provides another set of distractions from _then_ that will allow you to focus on _now_.

Tony takes you straight to his penthouse; it’s no doubt, where Pepper is waiting for the pair of you. That’s a sight you know well. Pepper in all her glory, perched on the luxurious couch in the living space of their penthouse, a drink – coffee or wine depending on the time of day – in her hand and an expectant yet fond gaze on her face.

Today it’s slightly different. Pepper isn’t sitting, she’s standing and there’s no drink in hand, but there is a beautiful smile on her face. Your heart nearly bursts at the sight. Pepper is safety, Pepper is nurturing, and Pepper is solace. Long strawberry blonde hair frames her face; warm eyes hold your gaze and they are light with relief.

“Y/N! Oh look at you,” Pepper beckons you over her steady arms open for you.

Once you reach her, she hugs you tight, close, and warm. She’s still wearing the same perfume after all these years, a sweet yet tasteful vanilla scent that you associate with holidays from school, visiting museums, going to parks and shopping trips at op shops despite the both of you knowing Tony had more than enough money to shop elsewhere. Outings with Pepper were always about the experience. Pepper is like the cool aunt you always wanted. And you had missed her so much.

When you finally pull away from her, her hands move to either side of your face, her touch is light as though you’re fragile but there’s a steadiness to it that keeps you grounded. Those blue eyes shine with tears of love and relief and it has your heart clenching because you know, god how could you not, that everything that happened to you didn’t just impact you. It affected everyone in your life, they suffered too, and they lived through the agony of not knowing if they would ever find you, if you were even alive.

“I missed you.”

At those words a few tears slip from Pepper’s eyes, you’ve never seen her cry, except for that one time when you watched Bambi and it’s not like she would ever admit to that. So with a shaky hand you reach up to wipe those tears away. And Pepper smiles fondly at you, eyes crinkly, and a small laugh escaping her lips, because she never thought this day would come. You here, alive, back where you belong, “I missed you too, Y/N, so much.”

After your moment you turn to face Tony, who now that you’re looking at him, quickly wipes under his eyes. You always knew he had a heart, a big one at that, so it doesn’t surprise you to see him like this. When he catches your gaze you give him a smile, it feels more genuine than any others you’ve offered today, and you know he knows that too. But you’re here with the two people who raised you after your parents died, the two people who did their best for you, who love you unconditionally, and that’s something to be really fucking happy about.

Tony and Pepper start to talk excitedly about things they’ve arranged for you, new clothes, new shoes, new this and that, and you know you should be excited to embrace the new you because you need in order to forget the old you. That person isn’t coming back anytime soon. But now you need a minute, maybe five. You only just processed that you’re back; you’re here, with them and how good that is. It’s beginning to feel like too much too soon and you don’t know if you’ll handle it.

“Wait – Can I, my room?!”

“Honey, we haven’t changed a thing about it, I promise, despite some of the damage it acquired over the years, everything is virtually the same.” Pepper’s assurance isn’t enough. You need to see it, you need to know, you need to remember.

“Can I go see it?”

“Sure, kiddo. We’ll take you down.” “

No," you shake your head. "I mean, I need to go by myself, if that’s okay?”

Tony and Pepper exchange a look. It's one you've seen copious times, the silent exchange where Tony is looking to Pepper for guidance on how to best approach something with you. Nurturing never came naturally to Tony, he can make jokes, and teach you new things, but he struggles with knowing when to impose and he never wants to be unfair or harmful to you, so Pepper is the mediator.

“Of course, Y/N. Just call out to JARVIS if you need us or anything.” Pepper answers, with a kind smile.

Your eyes shift to Tony and he is already looking at you, a small smile on his face, but concern deep in his gaze. He knows better than anyone that sometimes looking back only stops you from going forward. But you need to see it, you need to see the before otherwise you don't know if you can picture your _after_ ; your life now.

&

Walking through the door feels like stepping back in time. It’s an ironic feeling for someone who has the ability to literally do so. Your old room is just as you remember it. Pale yellow walls, a hand stitched quilt spread across the end of the bed, and various items of clothing scattered around the room. It’s been virtually untouched since your last stay, which was during your winter break, four years ago. Even the beanie you wore obsessively during that season sits on your bedside table.

The giant cork-board, you adored, is still intact and hanging on the wall. It has various tickets from Coney Island stubbed into it as well as a photo booth strip of you, Tony and Pepper at a charity event. More photos decorate the room, a few of you and your parents, you with various members of the Avengers, and there’s even one of your old friends from the academy.

It hurts, more than you thought it would, being back here and seeing how your life once was. Knowing how it could’ve been, how it should’ve been. You’re met with the stark realisation of what you’ve missed out on in the years you were being held a hostage. After all a person’s teenage years are unbelievably important in shaping who they are and that has you wondering who you could’ve been and who you are now. It's an uncomfortable feeling one mixed with grief, anger and confusion, because you don't have a strong sense of self that was stripped away from you day by day. When all you were was your abilities, all you were was a tool for their plans, or entertainment when they were bored, but you weren't a person and you certainly weren't a teenager.

Other teenagers were learning about social injustice, politics, engineering, history, literature and so on, they were going to parties, watching the latest TV shows, having crushes and discovering new things about themselves. While you were a prisoner, a weapon, a traitor, you were nothing for so long. It was a few months before your fifteen birthday when you were taken, causing you to miss out on all those things and then some. While you have always been mature for your age and the trauma you endured ebbed away at your more youthful characteristics, there were so many experiences you were yet to have.

Kissing people, breaking rules, making friends outside of your usual group, figuring out who you are, dying your hair a stupid colour, learning about the world and your place in it. Being a part of clubs and movements, learning to give a shit about things outside of your perspective of the world, learning to understand the importance of speaking out and listening closely. There is so much you haven't done and realising that makes you feel empty.

Now it's like you don’t know anything. Of course that’s far from true, you know more than your average soon to be nineteen year old, but none of it felt essential to someone of your age. You know how to stitch together your own skin with a safety pin and cotton thread, you know how to decode maximum-security algorithms, you know what death smells like and you know a lot of pain. But you wish you didn’t. You wish you knew about first kisses, going to parties, laughing so hard you cry, graduating high school, deliberating about your major at college, being a part of protests and societal changes, all those things you read about doing in your teenage years but never got to do. It feels like you’ve been robbed of so much, but you still have more than others, you still have your life, so shouldn’t you be grateful?

When you look at your room, you can see all the pieces of your life, you can feel the memories attached to different objects and you let it ground you. Because you can't go down this path of thinking, the guilt of survival, the guilt of knowing it could be worse and at least you made it out alive; these are things you can't think about. You need to forget. In moments like this, moments of unwavering grief and indescribable guilt, the only thing that used to distract you was ice cream and a good movie. It never took away from or fixed your problems, but it was a way to forget for a while, to exist in another world, and you haven’t had that luxury in so long you’re suddenly itching for it.

Maybe you aren’t ready to be in your room, to see a time capsule of who you use to be, of the life you were living. To be reminded of the time lost, the experiences you didn't get to have, and maybe you aren't ready to work out how you're suppose to move forward and navigate your new life. Tony's hesitance makes sense now.

"JARVIS?" You call out, voice a little shaky.

"Yes, Miss Y/N?"

"Can you take me somewhere I can have ice cream and watch a movie?"

"Certainly."

When you step out of the elevator you realise exactly where JARVIS has taken you. Although it looks different the kitchen space feels familiar to you, and you can easily recall all the breakfasts you shared with the Avengers here, Steve's famous porridge, and Natasha's delicious coffee. Even with it's changes the space still has Tony’s personality all through it, from the obnoxious coffee machine on the counter, to the array of Avenger mugs sat on one of the shelves.

As you walk through the kitchen, you let yourself relax and trail your hand across the marble bench – it’s filled with so much warmth you have resist the urge to tap into the memories attached to this space. It’ll hurt to see the everyone happy (or not) without you. So you walk out from the kitchen, past the dining area and towards the wall of glass that lets you see out into Manhattan, and towards the East of the city.

A lot of time was spent with you sat in places like this throughout the tower just looking out into the city, you would admire the various neighbourhoods, and the architecture behind them. Or you would people watch, and wonder what kind of lives people were living and you pictured all the people out there that you might cross paths with one day. So like you use to, you let yourself feel the life that thrums through this city, stretching from Midtown Manhattan up through Harlem and towards the Bronx or out to Queens and Brooklyn, even all the way down to Staten Island. Being back in New York brings a certain comfort to you and -

“Excuse me.” A voice interrupts you from your thoughts of re-exploring the city and you spin around.

Leaning on the back of the large lounge chair with your favourite flavour of ice cream in one hand, and pointing a spoon in your direction with the other is, “ _Spiderling_?”

Even though you can’t see his face behind the mask you can tell he’s smiling, even if it's a little begrudging because of the nickname, and then he says, with an excitement like you're two old friends reuniting, “the one and only!”

He steps toward you, and you don’t move a muscle, it’s not that you’re scared of him because everything about his energy feels safe and protective, just like Amaya. It’s that his voice is so young and warm, and there’s a playful aspect to his aura that wouldn’t be so vibrant for somebody older, but the undeniable washes of pain and hardship have you more curious than anything else today. It seems whoever lies behind this mask is more complicated than you initially would’ve suspected. And when he hands you the ice cream and a spoon, it feels like the beginning of something.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiderling brings out some mixed feelings in you but at least there's ice cream, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on getting this up today but it started to write itself and now here it is. Things kind of take an unexpected turn, expect some angst with Peter and the reader coming, lol sorry. Also there was suppose to be more in this chapter but I thought I'd split it in two so hopefully there won't be as long of a wait between chapters this time! 
> 
> I'm not sure how I feel about this one and I haven't properly read over it but I just wanted to get something out for you guys. Let me know what you think and again thank you so much for reading xxxx

Slowly, you take the ice cream and spoon from his hands, and when he flips over the lounge and pats the space beside him you feel compelled to sit down. Once you’re seated with what you hope is a normal amount of distance between you both, you open the tub of ice cream, and place the lid on the glass coffee table in front of you. It’s almost stupid how excited you get looking at the frozen treat but in fairness it’s been so long since you’ve had something as simple as your favourite food. You can feel Spiderling’s gaze on you, the excitement he shares with you, and it’s nice, his company is unexpected yet you decide that maybe it should be welcomed.

The first spoonful you take of the ice cream has a joyous sigh leaving your lips. Yeah, it’s  _that_  good. During your time as a prisoner the food you were given was bland, dry, and anything but enjoyable, in the last four years you can count the amount of pleasant meals you had on one hand and even then they came at an immeasurable cost. So this ice cream right here, this is something very special.

You turn to Spiderling, once your lips part from the spoon of your second mouthful, and you swallow, “Thank you, I love ice cream.” You tell him, with a small but blindingly genuine smile on your face.

The whites that mark Spiderling's eyes widen at your happiness and you know he is smiling too. 

“I know – I mean, Mr. Stark told me, everyone did." Even if you can't see his face, the hand he moves to the back of his head as he speaks seems sheepish, "it happened after I found a tub of limited edition ice cream in the freezer and before I even shut the door Wanda had taken it out of my hands from across the room and Natasha was glaring at me, I guess they were keeping it safe for you.” The  _just in case_ is implied by the tone of his voice, and as he hand falls from the back of his head while his shoulders shrug you know he's trying to comprehend that you’re sitting  _here_ , right next to him _._ And you suppose it is kind of unbelievable.

Despite what Spiderling's trying to grapple with about your presence the story does draw a small laugh out of you, that ice cream is sacred and everyone in the tower should know that. For your 14th Birthday, the first one without your parents, Tony pulled a few strings and got an ice cream flavour made that catered to your exact favourite tastes. It was delicious and random and perfect. So of course the team would treasure the last tub you had of it.  _Just in case._ And you know that you would be bothered if he had actually eaten it, even if he does seem nice.

“I’m glad they stopped you. So, Spiderling, why do you call Tony, Mr. Stark?” You question, brows raised and the smallest smirk on your lips. With everything you’ve seen you know he’s been a part of the Avengers for a while so surely he could’ve dropped the formality by now.

It turns out Spiderling, or Spider-Man as you’ve since been corrected, more commonly goes by Peter Parker. A boy just a few months younger than you, with curly brown hair that looked way too soft and warm kind eyes that you could look at for hours, the moment he had taken off the mask you realised he was unfairly cute. But more importantly, you found out he had a knack for science, and begrudgingly you admit it  _might_  match yours, and this explained his so called “internship” with Tony (or Mr. Stark as Peter so diligently called him, apparently it’s out of respect, although you’re pretty sure Tony enforces that). After he finished explaining that Aunt May still hasn’t discovered his secret and therefore Tony (Mr. Stark) had to devise the internship cover story. Which it turns out served very well on his college application much to his Aunt's delight, Peter is going to ESU in the fall but he skims over that detail like it isn’t worth focusing on. And turns his attention back to you.  

"So it's Y/N right? Mr. Stark talks about you all the time, I didn’t think you would be back so soon, not that four months is soon, but you know in comparison to…I mean no one really thought…” Peter stops himself, brown eyes going wide, as though he was about to say something he shouldn’t. It’s not like it really matters you don’t even need to think about using your powers to know what he was going to say.  _(No one really thought you would wake up.)_  Nothing is easy to hide from people with abilities like yours.

You give him a small smile to appease his sudden uncertainty, “It’s ok, Peter, I get it.”

It makes sense, everything about your life for the last four or so years happens to scream the word uncertainty, and even though Tony had  _finally_ found you it didn’t mean everything was fixed. Not even now that you’re awake, so to speak, things are different. You’re different.

Peter must notice the shift in your thoughts or maybe it's just the frown that's overtaken your face, because he nudges you gently, “But you’re back now and there’s ice cream!” He has a small smile on his face, it’s genuine even if it appears a little strained, but you suppose he’s trying to diffuse any potential tension before it arises.

“That there is, so do you want some? I mean you did give it to me after all and nobody let you have the limited edition flavour,  _obviously_ ,” You emphasis just so he doesn’t walk away from this with any ideas, that one is yours, “but sharing this seems like a good compromise.”

This time when Peter smiles, it’s all teeth, and kind eyes that crinkle at the corners. It’s a lot, but not too much because you decide that to see something so pure and warm, after years of darkness and dread, is actually kind of comforting. And that’s how you end up spending the rest of the afternoon sat with Peter eating ice cream while you let him tell you all sorts of adventures from the last few years of his life. He talks about Ned and Michelle and Flash, he explains how Aunt May is the best person he knows, but the worst cook in New York, and that’s how he knows all the prime food spots in Queens. You tell him Queens is the best burrow and he whole-heartedly agrees and you swear you hear him mumble something about how the super soldiers can suck it.

Right when Peter’s explaining to you how he was late for his graduation ceremony, Tony walks into the living room, “There you are!” You turn to face him and find a knowing twinkle in his eyes and an ever so annoying smirk on his face.

“I see you’ve met my protégé.” Tony states, gesturing at Peter. Something about the word and the look of fondness that crosses Tony's features as he glances at Peter has an unsettling feeling stirring in your gut. It dawns on you that Tony recruited Peter mere months after you disappeared, almost as though he was - No, you wouldn't let yourself go down that train of thought. 

Tony loves you, he wouldn't, he couldn't, replace you. 

Except now that the thought is there it's hard for you to let go of. If you really think about it, with all of Peter's stories in mind they only add to your unease, because he's the one that's part of the Avengers now, and you had always thought that would be in your future. Peter spends almost all of his spare time at the tower, hell there's even a Spiderling mug in the cupboard right to Wanda’s Scarlet Witch one, but you don't have a mug. It wouldn't surprise you if there was merchandise for his superhero counterpart as well. The feeling building in your gut is one of dread and betrayal and jealousy and you fucking hate it. It feels like Peter has your life and suddenly you're not so sure if he's all that  _nice_  or  _warm_  or anything other than another person who took something from you.  

Subconsciously your fists have clenched and your back is straight and rigid, your body struck with tension. Peter notices immediately and glances at Tony who was just talking about tonight's dinner plans. The two exchange a look before returning their gazes to you. The anguish on your face is impossible to miss so Tony squats down in front of you and places a hand on your shoulder effectively interrupting your inner turmoil. 

"You ok, kiddo?" Tony questions, looking at you with those kind brown eyes that have never held anything but love for you in them. In addition to the use of the nickname that is filled with endearment and memories and what must be so much more than whatever Peter has with Tony causes you to feel guilty for thinking so poorly of him in the first place. But at the same time you can't ignore this, because everything is different  _now_. And maybe you most notably of all.

Still it's not something you can address at the current moment, not with with Peter sat right beside you, concern a light in his eyes and his hand closer to you than ever before. As though he thinks he could offer you some kind of solace, like he isn't now a part of the problem. God, you kind of want to break his hand, but you can't. All you can do is swallow your feelings, the bitterness, the fear, the anger, the sudden found resentment towards Peter, the confusion, all of it, because you need to be fine. Not only for your sake, but for everyone's. 

“I – sorry – what’s up, Tony?” You ask, a small smile on your face. All previous signs of your disturbing thoughts erased, except for the way your fists are still tightly clenched, but you've moved them under your legs and out of sight so they're none the wiser. You've gotten good at hiding things. 

Tony rubs his thumb against your shoulder and returns your smile, “I wanted to know what you’d like for dinner, ice cream doesn’t suffice as a proper meal no matter how you try to spin it to me, kiddo, I’ve heard it all before." 

You force yourself to laugh at that, you know its convincing when you sense Peter's starting to relax beside you and Tony's smile widens before he continues, "And some of the team will be back from a mission just in time to eat so I thought we could -”

"Family dinner and game night?" You suggest, and just like that your fists unclench, you relax, and there's a smile on your face that's  _almost_  genuine. Because you can sense that Natasha and Wanda are going to be here soon and if there's two people you can undoubtedly count on it's them, they're your surrogate sisters so to speak. 

"There she is!" Tony exclaims squeezing your shoulders in excitement. "You tell JARVIS what you'd like and it'll be taken care of. In the mean time, Pepper has something she wants to show you, and Peter you're invited to dinner, of course, but clean yourself up I won't have your dumpster diving ass sitting at my dining table!"

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothes, comfort, and coming together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it might seem crazy to focus so much on small/material details of the reader’s life like her clothes but it’s important in exploring and understanding her trauma. She lived four years, (that are extremely important in terms of psychological development), without anything but scraps for clothes and abuse being thrown her way. So being reintroduce to things like clothes, comfort and care is going be a part of this story, it’s a part of recovery.
> 
> I'm not as happy with this chapter as I want to be. But it does have a really special reunion and a relationship dynamic I’m excited to explore, so please enjoy and let me know your thoughts xx
> 
>  
> 
> (Ditya (дитя) – Kid)

When you find Pepper, thanks to JARVIS, she’s standing in the walk in wardrobe of the penthouse. The way she stands with her hands on her hips, strawberry blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, while she surveys several racks of various clothes begins to settle you. It’s familiar, like the afternoons before Tony's events at the tower when you had no idea what you were supposed to wear and Pepper would find the perfect dress seemingly out of nowhere for you. Or the days before you would return to school and she made sure you remembered to pack another jacket and an extra dozen pairs of socks, _just in case_. Admittedly it’s comforting to have someone care about you right down to the clothes on your back and maybe not everything around here has changed. The remainder of your unease fades to the back of your mind for now.

“Come here, Y/N, I want you to show you something,” Pepper beckons you over and yeah this is definitely familiar, you muse.

It appears Pepper has acquired several new items of clothing for you. “We haven’t – Your wardrobe hasn’t been touched, we couldn’t go through it without you it would’ve been too much, but when you’re ready we can do that. Tony has built you a temporary wardrobe that we are planning on moving into your room for the time being.”

You nod at her words. When they managed to do all of this you can’t be sure, perhaps when you were first admitted to the Mutant Facility in January, you suppose that would make sense, and it only reaffirms what you’ve seen from the day that they found you. The whole team held onto hope that you were alive, the alternative unimaginable, so when they found you that feeling shifted to a desire for you to wake up. And you realise now it never fully left them, they never really acted as though you wouldn't one day wake up, no matter how trying that was for them. That realisation is comforting to say the least.

Pepper smiles gently at you before you both turn your attention to the clothes as she starts to explain them, “I may have gone overboard but I figured the more the better after everything.” Pepper pauses to glance at you, catching the curious glint in your eyes as you survey the different clothes, before she continues. “There’s a few pairs of jeans, shorts, a variety of tops, a couple of jackets, underwear, socks, sneakers, sandals, slippers, there’s even a skirt or two, and since we got your measurements from the hospital everything should fit perfectly.”

Clothes haven’t really crossed your mind in forever and certainly not since you returned only a matter of hours ago, after all the sweats Amaya gave you are more comfortable than anything you’ve worn in years. So you reach a tentative hand out towards the jacket closest to you. It’s denim, but very lightweight, a nice pale blue colour, kind of like the sky on a cloudy day, and perfect for when the weather decides to drop in the summer. Or it begins to rain the detachable hood a nice feature you notice. You decide it’s easy to think about clothes, their colours and textures and usage; it’s better than dwelling on other things.

The colour scheme is straightforward, black, navy, grey, red, khaki, nothing too out there but enough variety for it not to feel too constricting. You don’t know if it’s the fact that the shirts you’ve run your hands across are _so_ soft or if it’s the fact that now you have clothes that aren’t rags, a hospital gown, or leftover sweats from the Mutant Facility, but you can’t help the tears that well up in your eyes. Everything has been chosen for you with such consideration, such care, such love, and it’s overwhelming.

Today has continued to expose you to a whirlwind of emotions and you guess it’s finally catching up with you. Thankfully Pepper doesn’t say anything but a quiet hush of ‘honey’ before her arms are around your shoulders and you are quickly returning her embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into her hair, “It’s just a lot.”

“I know.”

Time doesn’t seem to matter as you and Pepper stand in the wardrobe. The comfort of her signature perfume, soft hair against your cheek, and steady arms around you, is exactly what you need. It reminds you are not alone in this and that despite whatever challenges you're going to face, at least you're back here, with Pepper, Tony and your family. Still eventually your moment is interrupted.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, Agent Romanov, and Miss Maximoff have landed safely on the Helipad, no injuries to report, and Mr. Stark asked me to inform you that dinner will be commencing in an hour.” JARVIS tells you.

“Ok,” Pepper shifts out of the hug, keeping her hands steady and soft on your shoulders as she looks at you, “How about you take a shower, and change into whatever you want, then come down for dinner?” 

All you can do is nod in agreement before wrapping your arms back around Pepper, “Thank you,” you mumble into her hair once more, “for everything.”

& 

Natasha Romanov and Wanda Maximoff are the two people who come closest to rivalling your skills in intrigue and intuition but for very different reasons.

Natasha was cunning with her years of training in espionage, she had the skills to read anybody without enhanced or mutated advantages, and for that you were greatly impressed. Especially when you realised how rarely she was wrong. For Wanda it was obvious. The ability she had to read minds was hard to beat, in some sense her indications of the future were far more immediate than yours, and while she could never predict something like an earthquake she could piece together more than most.

Maybe that was why the three of you had the bond that you did. Or maybe it’s what happens when you’re surrounded by men all the time and need the guidance of women. Pepper was fantastic but she was also a CEO and that meant she wasn’t always around or available, not that you blamed her. And what you lacked in siblings Natasha and Wanda certainly made up for. So it’s safe to say you’re a mix of emotions knowing you are mere minutes away from reuniting with them. You're mostly nervous, you think. 

Which is why as you stand in the elevator you can’t help but fiddle with the waistband of the jeans you wear, it might be summer but the Tower is set to a cool 70 degrees, so jeans and a t-shirt felt appropriate. Your shower had been incredible, the hot water felt therapeutic against your skin and the vanilla body wash Pepper had left out for you was such a stark contrast to the mouldy smell of where you use to shower. It's good being here but it's definitely an adjustment. For instance even the feeling of denim against your skin is unusual and hard to ignore, since you’re no longer use to it, still it certainly feels way better than wooden chairs and harsh cement floors. It'll take time for you to get use to what you have now, to accept the comforts Tony and Pepper can so easily offer you, and to realise you deserve it, you deserve to live normally and comfortably with your family. Thankfully, before your thoughts can get too carried away the elevator comes to a stop. _This is it._  

As you step out and walk into the kitchen the site you’re met with is achingly familiar. You stand back for a moment to admire them, to be grateful that you’re _here_  and that you're so far away from _there_.

Natasha is unpacking the food, spreading it out onto the bench to be served, and you don’t miss the way she cracks open a container of dhal to sneak a spoonful. No one will even notice because it’s Nat and she never leaves a trace. The food is from your favourite Indian restaurant and you’re sure JARVIS perfected the order because even the smell alone comforts you. Wanda stands in the middle of the kitchen and uses her powers to set the table; the beams of red energy light up the space, and create a gorgeous glow against the white walls. The colour is something you’ve missed, it’s bright and electric and so very Wanda it makes the smile on your face grow.

As you take a few steps forward, they both freeze their movements, the red glow dissolves from the walls, and two pairs of eyes turn to you. You only get a moment to process the look of pleasant surprise that flickers through their gazes before their arms are around you. Red and brown hair obscure your sight and you don’t mind at all, shit you might even start crying _again_. You can smell the fresh strawberry scent of Nat’s body wash with your face against her bare shoulder and the lavender in Wanda’s shampoo as her slightly damp hair falls against your cheek and it’s crazy that you remember these smells even after all these years. But you suppose you had to have something to hold onto.

It takes a lot of conscience resolve to not let your powers automatically search through their personal history of the last four years, it’s very instinctual for you to use your abilities, especially when you're in such direct contact with others. But now that you’re free it’s not something you want to do. It’s a reminder of _them_ and everything you were forced to do, all the pain you caused, all the information you gave them, albeit unwillingly. And on top of that you’re scared of losing your conscience again. The powers you wield are more than you know, that’s what you once overheard Charles saying, and you're certain Wanda knows it too. So yeah, you’re terrified. It feels safer right now to learn about their lives like a normal person and not whatever you really are. 

“I missed you, ditya _._ ” Natasha tells you, pulling you from your reverie and bringing you back to this moment. One of her hands gently brushes through your hair, and you know for certain now that she was indeed the one that took such good care of it for you whilst you were in your catatonic state. Nat’s always been great with hair. Often styling yours into intricate curls, twists, and waves and even teaching you how to do French and Dutch braids, which you eventually taught to Wanda.

The three of you pull out of the embrace, Nat’s hand rest on your shoulders and you can feel her fiery green eyes surveying you both as she lets you have a moment. Wanda’s hands linger either side of your face as she looks into your eyes. The small speckles of red let you know she’s taking a look, not very deeply for your own abilities naturally won’t allow it, but it’s enough for her to get a general sense of your state.  

The red leaves her eyes, and she strokes her thumb across your cheekbone right where a faint scar remains, and even though it’s not very noticeable you know she was looking for it, “I’m sorry that we didn’t prevent such terrible things from happening to you, Y/N _._ ” Wanda’s voice is laced with guilt and sorrow and Nat’s hand squeezes your shoulder, you know she feels the exact same way.

There’s not a lot you can say to comfort them. Wanda and Nat are going to feel a sense of guilt and frustration and a shit ton of other complicated feelings regardless of anything you could say. Everyone here feels some level of guilt, especially, over what happened to you, they’ve all spent hours thinking about the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘should’ve or could’ve done’ and psychic or not you already knew this. So you settle of the one thing you have to keep reminding yourself.

“It’s over now and that’s all that matters.”  

Once more before you can process what’s happening their arms are around you. Squeezing a little more this time and the both of them murmuring how glad they are it’s over and you’re here. And you know without having to look that their auras’ are bursting with warm oranges, soft pinks and bright yellows, the colours of love, friendship and joy. It makes your heart ache in the best possible way. To be back with Natasha and Wanda, to be back with Tony and Pepper, to be back in New York City and the tower, is all you’ve thought about for the last four or so years. You’re here, you’re safe, and it’s _really_ over.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I just want to establish that this story encompasses parts of what is canon in MCU but essentially it’s the year 2021 in terms of Peter’s age and the fact that he’s graduated from High School. I’m essentially pretending Infinity War didn’t happen and everything from Civil War was resolved. So Bucky received treatment in Wakanda before becoming an Avenger, Clint doesn’t have a wife or kids, Pietro is dead (I’m sorry), Vision hasn’t been created (lol Age of Ultron was lowkey my least fave aside from the twins being introduce), and yeah I think that covers all the canon divergences. 
> 
> If you have any questions about it though please feel free to ask! Otherwise enjoy this chapter, it defs got away from me and is probably the longest one yet I'm not sure how I feel about it, it's fluffy and soft, while the next chapter won't be. So all I can say to that is I love Bucky and Steve as well as Wanda and Nat getting up to mischief. Promise the next few chapters will eventually become more focused on Peter and the reader's relationship, there's just a lot of depth and stuff to establish, hence the slow build/burn type of story. 
> 
> Also special mention to phoenixe who so kindly made a pinterest board for this story!!! Here is the link if you want to check it out: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/faejackson4/fic-summer-brings-solace/ I love it so much <3

When the rest of the towers’ residents (sans Wilson and Barton who are both out on solo ops) begin to file in for dinner you’re sat on the island bench in the middle of the kitchen watching as Wanda and Natasha finish up their tasks. Tony is surprisingly the first to arrive, usually favouring to be fashionably late, but you suppose his first dinner with you in years is an occasion worth being on time for. He passes by you with a kiss on your temple and a grin before he moves on to the bench of food to make himself up a plate. Pepper glides in mere moments later and she casts her eyes over you before smiling and complimenting your choice in top it’s a soft blue crew neck tee that reminds you of the sky on a bright day. After serving herself a smaller portion to Tony she joins him at the table.

Bruce arrives next, he gives you a timid smile and a polite murmur of welcome back as he fills a plate with food. You know him well enough to gather that he would much rather you seek him out alone to catch up rather than in front of everyone. (A visit to his lab with tea at some point seems like a good idea). As he sits on the other seat beside Tony, which is across from Pepper you watch with fondness as he quietly chides Tony for his odd combination of dishes and Tony is quick to defend himself, _mango chutney goes with everything Bruce!_

The sound of a throat clearing diverts your attention back to the kitchens’ entrance and there you’re met with Steve Rogers. Times had a unique impact on him. Around a hundred years old yet he doesn’t look a day past thirty with his dark blonde hair and wide smile, or his muscles that just won’t quit, even down to the Hawkeye and Black Widow printed tee he wears. (That was a gift from Clint, everyone has one – you suspect yours must still be in your old wardrobe somewhere – and you know Tasha gave out the matching fluffy socks but Steve doesn’t adorn them). Seeing him at ease is a welcomed sight and a deep contrast to your most recent memories of him, but before you can linger on that he steps towards you.

“Y/N,” He says your name like he doesn’t really believe you’re here, “It’s good to see you!”

At that you smile up at him as he now stands before you. “You too, _Capsicle_.”

Steve can’t help but chuckle softly at the nickname. It isn’t one he’s heard in awhile, Tony is always coming up with new things to call him, so it’s nice to hear one of the originals from when everything began. 

“That’ll never get old to you will it, kid?”

“’Course not, _Spangles_!” You say, a soft laugh escaping you. 

That seems to be all it takes for Steve to close the remaining distance between you. A wall of muscle, which leaves you little room to move, let alone breath, surrounds you. It seems everyone here is dead set on making you cry but at least this time it’ll be from a lack of oxygen as opposed to an influx of emotions. It’s not unpleasant at all even when he lifts you ever so slightly off the bench your own arms find the room to wiggle themselves around his broad shoulders. If anything this is a comfort, to have strong and sturdy arms around, that aren’t there to hurt you only embrace you. Steve's arms are a safe place one you've missed.

Somehow Steve is like your grandpa trapped in your uncle’s body, that’s the best way you’ve found to describe it since knowing him. You remember how he would always ask you to explain the workings of the modern world like the elderly person he is, but he was also fiercely protective of you, loved to joke around and always tried to wake you up way too early in the most annoying ways possible. (Once he really did bust into your room and pour a glass of icy water on your face). It seems not too much has changed. Thankfully not the best thing and that is the incredible hugs he gives. (You really hope the waking you up early thing is over). 

“You better not suffocate her, _Steverino_!”

Steve scoffs above your head before he places you down onto the bench. When he takes a step back you note the small grin on his face, it’s gentle, but full of happiness and relief, it makes your heart clench. _God damn it._

“Missed you, kid, we all did.”

All you can muster in response is a small smile, anything more and you’re certain you’ll start crying again, which is the last thing you want. It’s just so much to process, so many different things you’re feeling, and as Steve moves around to fill his plate, you hear the steps of someone else entering the kitchen. Their unfamiliar presences consumes your thoughts as does the familiar sensation of their conscience thrumming against your temple, it’s instinctive for your powers to want to explore a new person, you felt it earlier with Peter, but he was far easier to ignore than whoever this is.

When you turn back around your mouth pops open in surprise. James Buchanan Barnes or Bucky as you know him from Steve’s countless stories halts in his steps as your eyes fall to him. This is someone you’ve heard endless tales about, read titbits from history books that concern his involvement in the war, and even seen glimpses of in several visions. But this will be your first time really meeting. So you look at him, like really look at him, beyond his posture and physique that belongs to a solider, his calculating eyes that only a well-trained assassin or spy could possess, and what you realise is how complex yet beautiful his aura is. That must be why his presence was harder for you to ignore than most.

The mixture of hues has your gaze lingering for longer than it should because you can’t help but marvel at all the different colours it encompasses and how they intertwine. There are the darker shades such as grey that represent feelings of grief and a loss of trust, perhaps in himself or his surroundings, you can’t be sure, there’s a stormy red you know easily as anger, and a deep purple that depicts his long life and obvious wisdom. Then there’s the lighter shades, a soft orange that shows you his friendship, with Steve, Natasha, and so on, as well as the belonging his found among the Avengers. The gentle green represents his growth, survival and prosperity, it’s mesmerising and hard to ignore as you imagine he must be. A subdued red shade also strikes you, it captures his endless strength and will power, which are qualities you can sense are timeless to him. It’s an honour to be in the presence of someone like this. All the colours create so much, such a vibrant and painful story, and one you would never dare to search for without permission.

Bucky clears his throat and it seems you’ve been staring for far too long. You hear Wanda chuckle briefly from the sink where she’s now getting herself a glass of water apparently your reaction was expected. As you quickly flicker your gaze to the table you note everyone, sans Bruce, has been watching this interaction play out, Tony most closely. But when Natasha, who is carrying an array of drinks over to the table walks past and whispers something to Bucky in what you assume to be Russian he visibly relaxes and so does everyone else.

The tension leaves his soldiers, his fists unclench and when you meet his gaze you realise he’s been watching you observe him intently the whole time. He doesn’t look mad, _thank god_ , perhaps a little apprehensive, but mostly you realise its curiosity that lies behind his blue eyes. You gather he must know about your abilities, but he can’t see them play out like Wanda’s with her wisps of red energy so he must be wondering what you were looking at so attentively. Deciding to further his unease you give him a small smile before dropping your gaze as if to say you’re done with that. And then he takes a step forward.

“It’s good to meet you, kid, heard a lot about you from everyone.” He tells you, his Brooklyn accent is a nice surprise.

“Likewise,” you say, looking back up to meet his gaze again, you’re glad to see it’s softer now, less apprehensive, so he you doubt he’ll mind when you say, “but I have a question.”

Bucky halts his movements and you follow his gaze as he shoots a glance to the dining table where now only Tony and Steve are watching the two of you. Steve gives him an encouraging nod still he doesn’t return his attention back to you until Tony shrugs as if to say ‘go ahead’. It’s all you need. 

“Steve wrote a list of things he needed to learn about, you know, coming back into the modern world and what not, do you have one?”

The last of the tension fades from the room and Bucky cracks an actual smile at that, “’Course I do, that punk over there –“ you don’t miss the indignant scoff that comes from Steve, “couldn’t wait to finally have the upper hand on somebody about the 21st century, he was the one who suggested it, he even made it into a race of who could finish theirs first!”

“I’m currently winning!” Steve comments.

Bucky rolls his eyes in good nature before returning his attention to you, “Why do you ask, kid?”

“I just thought you might have a few things from more recent years I could look at.”

The comment brings a reminder of your absence one that could potentially shift the mood of the evening to an unpleasant one and as a beat of silence lingers through the room you pray things will stay normal. You don’t want to be thinking about everything that’s happened until you really have to. So far this nights been something you’ve surely needed. It seems Bucky understands because he places a hand ever so gently on your shoulder and says, “’Course, we can help you put together your own list if you want?”

“That’d be great!”

After that’s decided you follow Bucky to gather your own plate of food, stocking up on extra vegetarian samosas because if you recall correctly they are god damn delicious. When you reach the table, Steve gestures for you to sit beside him, and Bucky easily falls into the seat on your right. It seems the two super soldiers are eager to discuss your list over dinner. But before that conversation can begin Peter Parker makes his appearance known as he runs into the kitchen. 

“Sorry I’m late, I fell asleep after my shower and – holy shit who order Indian? Is it from _Saraanaa Bhavan?_ Their vegetarian samosas are so good!” Peter chatters as he quickly fills his plate with food and you can’t help but scowl when he takes the last two samosas. Those were _your_ favourite, god damn Spiderling. 

The scowl on your face deepens when you realise that for some reason the seat across from you is the only empty one at the table. Natasha and Wanda sit across from Steve and Bucky, it almost feels like someone planned this, which sucks because you were beginning to think this seating arrangement was pretty great.  

“Come on, Peter, I saved you a spot next to me!” Wanda calls him over. And you feel betrayed since when were they friends. First Tony now Wanda, who else has this kid got tangled in his web, you wonder.

When he walks over and takes the seat across from you, you realise just how god damn hard it’s going to be to ignore him this whole meal. It seems he realises it too, as he shoots you a smile, you return it, albeit begrudgingly, it would be unfair to make things awkward in front of everyone and you don’t want to ruin what’s suppose to be a good night for you. And you won’t let Peter ruin it either.

It only takes five minutes for you to realise that might be harder than you think. His stupid brown eyes keep casting glances at you, while he talks to Wanda, as though you weren’t going to notice, but you do, every single time! You try to ignore him as Steve and Bucky tell you all about the current film scene, with Natasha adding her own two cents every so often. But it becomes increasingly harder when you realise he seems to talk, so much, and his voice is so loud in the close proximity, you can’t ignore his presence no matter how badly you might want to.

Wanda has caught on to how Peter continuously casts looks your way so she decides in true Maximoff style to intervene. “Did you know Peter is from Queens, Y/N?” 

“Yes, he told me before when we met." There's an edge of reluctance in your tone, like you don't really want to engage in the conversation, which you certainly don't. No need to see how fantastic of friends Peter and Wanda must be, you think bitterly. 

Wanda ignores you tone, and smiles widely. There's a hint of mischief in her eyes as she glances between you two. It seems Peter caught it as well because he suddenly seems very interested in his dhal. Even if you don’t want to know what lies behind that look in her brown eyes you have a feeling Wanda is going to tell you regardless.

“Pete was just telling me about this new ice cream place that is opening soon right by his Aunt’s place, you build you own flavour, toppings, sauce, everything. I think it would be good if we go when it is open!” Wanda whose expression has now morphed into a shit-eating grin seems all to pleased with the exasperated look that's overcome your face. Oh god, you know her expression all too well it means, she has a plan, and you have a suspicion as to what it might entail. 

But before you can even begin to think of a way out of it Natasha cuts in. “Hell yes, count me in. It’ll be like old times!”

You don’t miss the wink Natasha shoots Wanda behind Peter’s head. The two of them are definitely up to something and you want no part of it, the only problem is, when they get like this the earlier you get on board the better chance you have of minimising the damage you will inevitably have to deal with later. So despite the fact that you really do not want to spend another afternoon with Peter Parker of all people you decide it’s best to agree. Hopefully the ice cream that is now guaranteed will make it worth your while.

“Fine, you know I can’t ever say no to ice cream!” You tell them, shrugging your shoulders with what you hope is an air of nonchalance, in order to diminish any suspicions that you know they are undoubtedly up to something.

The moment you see Wanda high five Natasha you wish you hadn’t have given in so fast. And it’s only made worse when Peter looks up from his plate at your words and smiles so widely at you, you’re afraid his face might spilt in two. _Shit_ , the ice cream better be good otherwise you’re not sure this is going to be worth it.

It seems Steve agrees with you as you catch him mumble, “What’s so great about ice cream from Queens anyway, Brooklyn has plenty of places that are actually open!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear your thoughts and thank you for reading, I love you. <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set like a week after the previous one.
> 
> Also warning this chapter has implications of sexual assault – while it doesn’t actually occur in this story – please be forewarned that some content may be triggering. Also there are definite elements of anxiety and nightmares so please be aware of that too!!! 
> 
> The whole organisation behind the reader’s kidnapping is starting to be explored in this chapter as well, so if you have any q’s I’m happy to answer them as long as they don't give away certain things!! 
> 
> Don’t be mad this chapter is super long like close to 4K but I promise Peter will be in the next chapter and the sole focus of it - you're not ready for the angst and comfort coming your way. This chapter is just backstory and setting up for the next chapter while also establishing the reader’s relationship with Bucky because I couldn’t resist having a sibling dynamic for them now could I?! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it xx

**Department Z Head Quarters, Quebec – Two Years Ago**

The cell is dreary with grey walls, a concrete slab that passes as your bed, cracks in the ceiling, and little to no light. It’s where they’ve kept you for the past two years. So you’ve come to know it well, right down to the number of mismatched tiles on the walls, there are 583. Right now, you are tied to the dingy wooden chair they bring out in times like these, it leaves scratches on your shoulders and the backs of your knees, but mostly it sees your limits being pushed time and time again. Today is no different.

It’s only been a few minutes since you fell unconscious, your mind fading from the strenuous stimulus they had put you under. This had only happened a few times before as normally you were able to find the path they were after before your mind gave out, but they’ve pushing you harder lately. They’re more on edge that usual too. So a few minutes of rest are all they’ll allow and according to someone it’s more than enough as a sharp backhand across the face brings you back to consciousness. The force of it sends your head lolling to the side as you struggle to find your bearings. Blinking slowly you realise you’re still in this god damn cell being tortured. The constant variables of the future tire your mind, but they, your captors, are never satisfied until they exhaust every possibility to find their best foreseeable outcome.

Dr Mallory stands over you, his dark beady eyes demanding your attention, like always. You shift in your seat, having grown numb to the feeling you don’t notice the fresh cuts that open on your bare shoulders, instead you lift your heavy eyes to meet his gaze. It’s fierce and threatening and even though it’s a look you’ve received countless times before, it still terrifies you. Somehow you have never doubted that your situation could get worse. 

“We made a breakthrough. Right before you decided to pass out,” He sneers, but the satisfied smirk on his face let’s you know he’s not all that angry, which means whatever you found is exactly what they were looking for. 

Still his words make you feel weak. Sometimes you struggle to hold on for the entirety of the vision, whether it be because the future they are trying to have you foresee is too complex or you’re simply too exhausted is something you can never distinguish. And they don’t seem to care either way because nothing is a valid excuse. You’re a pathetic little girl, no matter what. Ir hurts yet you’re not sure if being their good little girl is any better. 

Dr Mallory’s scratchy voice cuts through your thoughts, “We’re moving you to a new location, _they_ are getting too close to us here and we have bigger plans in store. Thanks to your insights.”

You have to ignore the stirring of hope that the mention of _them_ brings up because it’s happened before and allowing that feeling in always leaves you with near unbearable disappointment later. Besides at this point you’ve learnt Mallory and his team will only ever use your hope against, it’s better to act unaffected and luckily you’ve learnt how to do that. 

“What insights?” You ask quietly, ignoring the topic of _them_ completely. You also can’t fully remember, there are flickers of people – a quiff, caramel eyes – but your mind is still affected from the harsh alterations of the future, so you can’t quite get a clear picture of what you saw.

“We have discovered other mutants that may be useful to our work,” he tells you a satisfied smirk on his face and you wish you had the strength to slap it off. _Fuck!_

“No!” You plead.

The thought of anyone else having to experience what you have, terrifies you, and the fact that they are most likely going to use you to find them makes it all the more horrifying. Of course they already know this. It’ll just be another way for them to watch you suffer.

“Please, you can’t hurt anyone else,” Your voice cracks with the desperation as you implore him to do no more harm, “I’ll do better, I promise, just don’t take anyone else!” The way you beg at him has the smirk on his face widening, it sickens you how much your pain and anguish satisfies him.

Tears brim in your eyes. This is never what you wanted, you know you’ve already helped them do enough, already unlocked more than you should have for them, and although you didn’t have a choice this is different. Hurting others like yourself is something you would never truly move on from you know that. And it seems, so does he.

“You’re a silly girl, aren’t you?” Mallory laughs at your pleas. 

He takes a step closer to where you’re seated and kneels down in front of you. Despite the silent tears that obscure your vision you don’t miss the way he cocks his head to the side as if to survey you like the divine specimen he seems to think you are. You fucking hate it.

“I thought you would appreciate some company, but I suppose if you don’t want other mutants here, there are other ways we can tend to your loneliness.” Mallory’s hand moves to grip the back of your neck, his thumb running along your jaw, “we all hear you crying out for _them_ to save you in your sleep, but sweetheart we’re all you’ve got now.”

His hand on your skin paired with the suggestiveness in his voice has your gut reeling with nausea yet you refuse to let it show. The more any one of them sees their words and actions antagonise you, the worse it’ll get, you learnt that the hard. So you swallow the bile rising in your throat and you refuse to shed any more tears than the salty ones already on your cheeks. You ignore the guards and scientists in the room who snicker at his words. Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time a suggestion like this has been thrown your way they’re yet to act on it, but you don’t ever want to find out if they will.

The truth is his words are effective and threatening enough to prompt your decision. It’s one you wish you didn't have to make, but if you don’t help them the alternative seems so much worse. You’re selfish and you hate that you’ve become this person. _They_ would be so dissapointed. 

“I’ll do whatever I can to help you find them.” You all but promise him, your eyes never leaving Mallory’s intense gaze, and at your words his smirk shifts into a smile. It’s disgusting.

“That’s my good little girl.” He places a sloppy kiss on your cheek before his hand brushes through you hair, his eyes sweep over you once more and when he seems satisfied he stands. The moment his touch leaves your body a wave of relief washes over you.

The scientist and guards follow Mallory as he leaves the room. When the metal gate closes and is locked, your two regular guards take their position at the front, and Mallory addresses them with a, “Make sure she gets some rest.”

Then he turns his attention to you, his eyes easily finding yours, “Hunter will return later to gather the rest of information from you. He’s looking forward to seeing his ma chérie!”

The realisation that today is going to get a whole lot worse on top of everything that just happened brings back the overwhelming nausea in your gut. You can feel the bile rise back up your throat and this time you don’t swallow it down. Despite the fact that you’re still strapped to the chair you manage to not get any vomit on yourself as you throw the contents of you stomach up onto the floor. It splatters against the concrete and you cough harshly, your throat now feels scratched and sore.

**Avengers Tower, New York City – Present Day**

A choked gasp escapes your mouth as you jolt upwards in your bed. Your breathing is laboured while you try to remind yourself its over, you aren’t there anymore, you’re free, and you’re safe. Still you’re not sure that’s entirely true. You can feel the nausea in your gut once more, but unlike in your memories there’s no bile rising up your throat. You let out a shaky sigh. That’s the worst night terror you’ve had since your return.

“Miss, I am sensing, high levels of distress from you, should I alert Mr Stark of your condition? Or perhaps Dr Banner?” JARVIS’ voice cuts through your tirade of thoughts.

Frantically you shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine, thanks J.”

The reply from JARVIS doesn’t reach your ears. Slowly you peel the sheets back from your sweaty skin and clamber out of the bed to head towards your bathroom. The lights flicker on automatically once you step inside and close the door behind you. As you step up to the sink the site your met with in the mirror reminds you of the day, only last week, when you were being released from the mutant facility. That haunted look is back in your eyes, only now it’s laced with guilt. The reality is, even if you’re not there anymore; you’ll never be rid of the memories, of the scars, of the pain, of the guilt and it hurts, _so_ much.

There’s a lot of heaviness that hangs over your conscience. A lot of things you don’t know how to come to terms with or how to even process. Mostly it’s about the choices you were forced to make, you still aren’t sure whether they were right or wrong, but they can’t be changed. Like you’ve done before you turn on the tap of cold water to splash some across your face, the coolness soothes your hot to touch skin and clammy palms. It grounds you and lets you think about _now_ rather than _before_.

It’s only been a week since you returned to the tower and between Wanda updating you on the progress of that damned ice cream store, you agreed to visit, most of your time has consisted on working on your physical therapy with Natasha, watching movies with Bucky and Steve when they aren’t busy, and hanging out with Bruce and Tony in the lab. You've managed to successfully avoid Peter. Sadly Pepper’s been swept up into her CEO duties once more, but you facetimed her just yesterday. Sam returned a few days ago and it made you realised just how snarky Bucky can be. While Clint is expected to be back any day now and you could definitely use his penchants for pranks to distract you.

Once you’re satisfied that the cool temperature of the water has calmed you down you turn off the tap, dry your hands, and decide to leave your room. The corridor is deserted as you suspect it to be at this hour, still with a deep breath you focus yourself to sense if Wanda or Peter are awake, and you’re relieved to find they’re both resting peacefully. The last thing you need is to wake one of them up and be met with a series of questions, especially Peter, you've realised he really never knew when to shut up. 

When you step into the elevator it seems no words are needed, as JARVIS seems to know exactly where to take you. The kitchen and living area is the only place you’d want to go at this hour. As you tread down the hallway you can see that the kitchen light is already on and you can sense it’s no one to be worried about running into this late.

Once you round the corner and spot the distinguishable figure of Bucky hunched over the kitchen bench you feel the last of the apprehension leave your body. You expect him to react to your presence as you draw closer to where he stands, but getting a vague gage on his feelings you realise he isn’t bothered by your intrusion. For some reason you can’t help, but think if it was anyone else he wouldn’t feel the same way. The two of you have more in common than a stranger could ever imagine of a former assassin and a teenage mutant.

Maybe it’s because you’re young or you’ve only been back for a short while yet Bucky has never expressed the same disdain towards you that you’ve seen directed at some of his teammates, mainly Sam. You’ve refrained yourself from searching too deeply into his timeline to try to understand why. Both Tony and Steve had given you a stern warning the night after you first met that Bucky’s past wasn’t something you should see, for an entirety of reasons that you also didn’t need to know. The point was you already knew more than most and that was enough. It didn’t bother you, despite the curiosity, because as far as you were concerned the Bucky you knew was greater than his past. 

“There’s a fresh pot of tea if you’d like some. Wanda gave it to me when I first came here.” Bucky gives you a soft smile over his shoulder and now that you’re closer you can see he’s stirring honey into a mug, “it’ll help.” He adds on because he knows exactly why you’re here.

“Do you have nightmares too?” You ask him. 

He turns to face you his back against the bench and the mug now in between his hands, “some nights, but it’s gotten better with time,” Bucky says. You can feel him watching you as you open the cupboard in search of a mug for yourself.

“Shouldn’t you be able to tell when yours will end? Steve said you were a psychic or somethin’,” He questions, his Brooklyn drawl coming out more clearly in his fatigued state.

You look over your shoulder at him, his gaze is soft, but curious, and you shake your head, no, if only it were that straightforward. Misconceptions about your abilities are very common and you wish they were as simplistic as people often think. They’re complex and frustrating, which are the last two things anyone ever assumes. Everyone thinks being able to see the future would be awesome and maybe it was, but you definitely don’t feel that way anymore.

“I can’t see my own future, unless it’s tied directly to another persons, so like if you and I were strangers and we both got on a bus that crashed, I could see that because it’s not solely happening to me, but even then there’s a lot of variables, most of the time the future isn’t certain,” You explain, just as you find the mug you were searching for, it’s Iron Man’s helmet, and although it’s technically not yours you doubt Tony would mind.

“But I don’t like searching for mine,” you add on as an afterthought, turning around to fill the mug with Wanda’s tea that sits on the stove. 

Bucky seems to contemplate this for a moment, glancing into his mug as though it has the answers, before fixing his gaze to you. Your powers are intriguing to him.  “But you could, if you wanted to?”

You nod, “In a sense, I can see anyone’s past, present or future, if I want to, doesn’t mean I enjoy doing so. I use to before –“ You swallow quickly and instead of bringing up _that_ you focus on the times when nothing in your life had gone all that wrong;  

“When I was younger it felt like watching an exclusive movie before anybody else, like it was pretty cool finding out Obama would get elected for Office when the vote count wasn’t even close to over. Stuff like that was exciting, and I didn’t have anywhere near the level of control over it that I do now so it was always a surprise.” You miss that, the simple yet fascinating nature your abilities use to possess, and it was all so much easier then. “But that was before it was exploited, used for things I never could’ve imagined,” You conclude because whether you can or want to ignore it, what happened to you will always be there.

Bucky nods and you can see the understanding behind his eyes. It dawns on you that he too knows what it’s like to be used against his will and you can only imagine the pain he has suffered. Seventy years is a lot longer than your mere four and while your therapist told you in the first session you had the other day that comparing sufferings is not fair you can’t help to do so. Because here he stands before you, a little broken, but holding on to something greater than every piece of pain he’s endured and if that doesn’t instil some sense of hope in you, than maybe his assurance will. 

“It’ll get easier,” Bucky tells you and it sounds vaguely like a promise. 

Still there isn’t anything you can say to that or anything you want to voice to him. So you let it sit because maybe he’s right. In some way the two of you surviving everything you have is kind of miraculous and if he’s been able to adjust then so can you.

“Come on, we’re goin’ to watch a movie.” Bucky tells you and you know it’s an attempt at a distraction for the both of you. “I’m still workin’ through my list, you know that, but here -” He hands you his phone before he walks to the lounge area and it’s open on a very long, very detailed, list in his notes app.

“Pick somethin’ you like, kid.” He says over his shoulder.

You follow him and as you scroll through it you snicker at some of the things included like the _Backstreet Boys Discography_ and _Frozen (it’ll help with the nicknames – Tony)._ A lot of it has admittedly been crossed out, he’s had a couple years to do so, but you suppose catching up on seventy years worth of knowledge and pop culture while also keeping up with the current stuff is challenging. No wonder Steve wants to make it a race.

Eventually you settle on _Inside Out,_ you’ve only seen it once before, it’s a sweet and easy to watch type of film. It’s not imperative to watch or anything unlike _Harry Potter_ is, so you suspect Wanda suggested it, probably because of the lessons it can offer and the sentiment.

“We’re going to watch _Inside Out_.”

“Sure thing, Y/N.”

As you set up the movie Bucky explains to you softly that Wanda’s tea blend is actually infused with her powers, which is what makes it so effective. It keeps invasive thoughts, such as nightmares or unwanted memories, at bay. If you allow it to, you know it can help you despite your powers natural reluctance to that of other mutants or enhanced individuals’. It’s worth a shot. One that’s made better by the fact that the dark ruby drink tastes delicious. You place your mug on the glass coffee table, as you get comfortable. It doesn’t take long for you to realise how cold it is in the open space of the lounge, since it’s summer you only sleep in a tee and cotton shorts, but with the cool temperature of the tower and your lack of blankets it bothers you. So now that the movies started you grab your mug and hope it can warm you. 

The opening credits have only just ended when Bucky turns his attention to you from the other end of the couch, “I can’t focus when you’re shakin’ every couple a’ seconds,” he comments and you realise he was quick to notice.

Bucky hands you a sweatshirt, it looks like it could be Wanda’s, the dark burgundy colour complimenting the majority of her wardrobe, he takes the mug from your hand and you mumble a thanks before you pull it on. It’s incredibly soft and warm; you snuggle into it and then take your drink back from Bucky with a smile before you lie back against the arm of the couch, stretching your legs out in front of you. Happy that you’re satisfied Bucky returns his attention to the screen, as do you, and you let yourself get enraptured by the story.

At some point during Riley’s attempted runaway due to Anger’s rash idea, you fall asleep, tucked up in a ball, your head against the armrest, feet tucked under your bum and your empty mug long forgotten on the floor. Bucky has yet to notice this. Completely enamoured by the Disney film, it’s not the first one he has seen, and like the others it instils a feeling of content in him. He likes this one, the sentiment behind the importance of experiencing all your emotions, is one he has come to know himself and it’s nice to see it narrated this way.

When the end credits begin rolling, Bucky looks to his right to finally discover your dozing state. Of course, he knows how young you are, but seeing you like this without anxiety causing tension in your shoulders or worry lines on your forehead, makes it that much more alarmingly apparent. The softness of your cheeks and the lack of tension in your body, how you curl into the hood of the burgundy jumper that you seem to find incredibly comfortable, it has protectiveness filling him. He knows everyone in this tower feels that way about you because they’re a family and it seems you’re the piece that’s been missing for far too long.

Slowly Bucky stands hoping not to wake you from your peaceful state, he grabs the fluffy blanket off the back of the couch, it’s Natasha and no one else is allowed to use it, not even Clint. Still he thinks she’ll make an exception for you. Carefully he drapes it over your curled up form, a contented sigh escapes your lips as you shuffle in your sleep and Bucky smiles softly at you. You remind him of his sister and he wasn’t there to watch over her, but he will be for you, and that earlier promise of things getting easier is something he hopes to uphold.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If u liked this chapter I would love for u to tell me ur thoughts or leave a kodus it really means a lot!!!! Thank you for reading <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this really hard to write, I hope I did it justice, sometimes we have ideas that are much harder to articulate than others so bare with me. I’ve doubted my writing a lot lately so I’m not sure about this one, it feels rushed, but I want to keep the story going because I have so much planned, just bare with me! 
> 
> Sorry in advance for the angst. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos & comments and reading my work in general, never thought I would actually share my work with people and to have such kind responses means more than you know. Love you all <3

Sleep is the one time where the carefully constructed wall you’ve locked your more potent psychic powers behind, along with some memories and feelings, begins to crack. And tonight with a jumper that doesn’t belong to you brushing against your skin, with memories your mind seems to think are worth exploring, the crack becomes an almost complete collapse of the wall.

Walking through the memories of an object, especially one that belongs to someone else, isn’t difficult for you to do, you’ve had plenty of practice, but it’s exhausting. Empathy is an aspect of this power, the ability to feel the emotions etched in a memory are equal parts horrible and an honour. What further exhausts your mind is the fact that you become fully entrenched in whatever lies within the object, while you experience everything first hand and you’re conscious of what you encounter, you cannot connect anything you see back to your reality until the vision ends. And thankfully you always remember it in detail afterwards.

Right now you can feel yourself being pulled into the memories that lie in this jumper, it feels like a hand is reaching out to grasp at your psyche, and it’s close to pulling you in. The essence is one you know you’re familiar with but you just can’t place. From your wrists, all along your arm, across your chest and down your stomach, you can feel the warmth, life, heartache and tension that are sewn into this jumper as tightly as the stitches in its seams. When you wake ever so slightly due to this intruding feeling that is all it takes, the hand makes one final tug, and your mind falls into a world that isn’t yours. But one you need to see.

**Queens, New York**

May Parker is not good at baking.

This is a fact known to everyone, but the woman herself. So every Sunday afternoon she makes her infamous date loaf despite someone’s tentative yet frequent suggestions that maybe she should try something else. (Like chocolate chip cookies because really who could get that wrong?) Still May is persistent, and as she moves around the small kitchenette of the apartment, humming an all too familiar tune under her breath, she places the dish in the oven.

The faint smell of nutmeg and cinnamon lingers in the air and despite how she mightn’t ever make a dish that is all that edible he feels comforted by the familiarity of it all. And the nervous jitters that have him fiddling with the sleeves of his jumper slowly begin to settle in her presence. He watches over her from the entranceway and he knows that he can come to May with any problem because after all she’s the embodiment of nurturing. In all the years he’s known her, she has continuously shown herself to be earnest, kind and tough as hell. And he’s so grateful for her, he always is. Still he can’t help but hesitate.

May begins to clean up around the kitchen, stacking bowls and measuring cups, before she takes them to the sink. Completely lost in the tune she hums and her actions she is yet to notice his presence. Once all the dishes are clean and stacked in the drying rack, she turns towards the entranceway and a surprised smile over takes her features as she spots him.

“Are you excited for Friday night?” May asks, wiggling her eyebrows and popping her hip to the side. 

A soft laugh escapes him before he drops his eyes from her and tugs anxiously at the sleeves of his jumper once more, “More like nervous.” 

“Do you need to practice your moves?” May questions, an ever so playful lilt to her voice.

It causes him to lift his gaze back to her, and now she stands with her hands on her hips, a playful twinkle in her eyes, it’s a common look for her. And he knows it suits her. The determined and almost teasing look she wears are enough to let him know that despite the words he speaks next there’s no getting out of whatever she has planned.

“I’m not sure I, uh, have moves.”

May laughs ever so softly, before she turns around and switches on the small radio, tucked next to an overgrown pot plant on the counter. 

“Well, how about a little something like this?” And that’s when the tune she was humming, becomes an actual song playing through the kitchenette.

May starts dancing, with an easy smile on her lips, and an effortless sway to her movements. He knows she has danced countless times before. The stories of her school prom, various nights out and even her wedding night are the ones he knows well. They’re the happy times. And what he knows even better is that she wants this night, Friday night, to be one of his happy times.

When he starts to move his body it’s obvious he feels awkward and stiff like he isn’t really confident or comfortable in himself. His movements lack a natural ease or flow rather they look rigid and tense. It’s frustrating for him because he knows he has strength and he can be agile, swinging through New York City and fighting bad guys is proof of that. So why the hell is dancing so hard, he can’t help but wonder. It seems May has noticed his struggle and she stretches a hand out to him.

When he takes her hand, gratefully, it starts to get a little easier. And that earlier hesitance and unease drifts to the back of his mind. They step and sway from side to side; he knows he’s starting to get the hang of it, when May nods encouragingly at him.

“Now this is how you actually dance with a partner,” May explains as she moves his hand so it rest in the middle of her back while she places one of her own hands on his shoulder and their other hands still hold each other’s.

This doesn’t seem too hard. For awhile it’s not, the easy 1, 2, 3 stepping circle they follow to the rhythm of the song is working, and May definitely thinks so as she laughs happily when the songs tempo increases and he matches it quite easily. It’s nice seeing her this happy, it’s not always the case for them, and he treasures moments like this.

Unfortunately it all comes to end when he gets a little too ambitious. As he tries to spin her around, like he saw from that one wedding video, it seems he found his two left feet. When his feet get caught, he lets out an undignified yelp just as his body starts to fall down. The worst part is he pulls May down with him and the pair of them land in a heap side by side on the linoleum tiles. He can feel the warmth of embarrassment flush his cheeks. And when he makes eye contact with May she bursts out laughing like she expected this to happen all along. Still she pulls him into an easy hug, because he did his best. And that’s all it takes for him to laugh with her too.

When the vision begins to fade he is left with her kind eyes, infectious smile, and soft laughter as she holds him. The love he feels, the gratitude, the respect and admiration, is damn near overpowering. May Parker must be important.

**Midtown High School, Queens**

Swirls of colour circulate, hues of reds, yellows, and oranges as the transition between the jumper’s memories takes place. There are feelings of friendship, trust and loyalty in the air and when it all clears away, he stands in the corridors of what appears to be a school. 

Lockers line the walls and bright, colourful posters for graduation and prom are spread across the vicinity, but what demands your attention is Ned Leeds. A boy with big brown eyes, soft cheeks, and a smile that says ‘hell yeah we’re about to graduate’ on his face. Ned wears a graduation gown, the cap in the hand that rests at his side, while his other arm leans up against the locker to his left. 

“Come on, dude, we’re on the homestretch now! One more week of practice and then we’ll be crossing that stage for real, getting our diplomas, and leaving behind the hell that is high school.”

An easy smile finds it’s way onto his face at Ned’s words, this is what the two of them have been waiting for, and the freedom is so close they can almost taste it. Like a never ending summer filled with warmth and laughter and trips to the beach and sticky ice cream on their lips before fall blows in and takes them to college. So they know the moment they walk across that stage will make the last four years, of late night study sessions, the torment from their peers, Star Wars marathons when one of them was feeling down and even that one trip gone wrong to Washington, worth it.

“You’re right, I know! It’s just I can’t help, but have a bad feeling about graduation.”

Ned rolls his eyes before a flicker of realisation crosses over his face and he leans in close to ask, “Wait! Do you mean like your _Spidey_ senses are tingling?!”

Eyes dart around to make sure nowhere is near, they’ve had way too many close calls over the years, and when he deems the coast is clear he nods his head at Ned. “I know I’m not suppose to talk about it, Mr. Stark would kill me or at least confiscate my new suit, but the team is close to making a breakthrough with you know what.”

“Holy shit!” Ned shouts.

A hand strikes out fast to cover his mouth. “Keep it down!” He says he in a harsh whisper, his eyes wide and body tense.

“Sorry, it’s just isn’t this big? Like they’ve been searching for –“ Ned stops mid sentence when the sound of approaching footsteps reaches his ears.

The two of them turn their heads in the direction of this noise. Rounding the corner is none other than Michelle Jones and she does not look impressed. Not that she ever seems to be. Especially where the two of them are concerned. 

“Are you two done gossiping?” She questions as she arrives in front of them her eyebrow quirked, and despite that she does her best to look unbothered at them being without her again, yet they know better. Still Michelle is quick to move on, like usual. 

“Practice is over and you know it’s my turn to pick the movie tonight and since you two lost the latest bet you’re both on snack duty, I want peanut M&Ms!” She more or less demands of them, a small smile making its way onto her face. 

Fridays are strictly reserved for movie night. And like she said, because both of them were wrong about the prom theme that meant they owed Michelle movies snacks for the next month. It doesn’t bother him all that much; Ned on the other hand still hasn’t gotten over it. 

“But crispy M&Ms are way better!” Ned complains.

“If I see any type of M&M that isn’t peanut, you’ll be forced on to snack duty for another month!”

“Yes ma’am.” Ned gives Michelle a two-finger salute to which she rolls her eyes.

He can’t help but snicker at their bickering, it’s always like this and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Still before it can escalate into an actual argument like that time Ned off handily said the Star Wars Prequels were a waste of time when Michelle forced them to watch the trilogy. That was a weekend he wouldn’t forget anytime soon. So with that in mind, he steps between them and throws his arms over their shoulders, bringing the three of them together, and when he looks down at his friends, they both have content smiles on their faces. 

 **Forest Park, Queens**  

When he steps out of the school, instead of being met by buses and a car park, he finds himself in a graveyard, _alone_. And the shift in feelings is like a punch to the gut. So much pain, grief, anger, guilt, confusion all rolled into one giant ass fist that collides with him. It’s nearly unbearable, it always is. The loss of his uncle is still something he doesn’t know how to accept and maybe he never will.

One of his hands pushes up the sleeve of his jumper to check the watch he wears, he still has an hour or so before he needs to head home, while the other holds a small bouquet of flowers. They’re white carnations, the elderly women at the florist told him they stood for remembrance, and that’s what he wants his Uncle to know. That he is and always will be remembered.

And that he hasn’t forgotten those words, his Uncle once said, ‘with great power, there must also come great responsibility.’

Even now as he kneels down besides the gravestone those words echo in his mind. He knows he has great power and he is trying his best to use it for good, to live up to that responsibility. That is what the Stark Internship is for, what all the late nights fighting crime are for, all the lying and secrets to his loved ones. He knows now better than ever that he has a responsibility to the people of New York City, the ones who can’t fight their own battles, who can’t save themselves, or who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That’s what being Spider-Man is to him. A responsibility, an honour, a chance to do the right thing and to make sure no one else has to sit here in front of a gravestone and feel the unbearable loss of a loved one.

_He hasn’t forgotten._

The flowers mean remembrance and he will never forget Ben Parker, his uncle, a husband, and a loved one. As long as he is out there in the world, fighting and believing in this responsibility he feels, then he will never forget.

This world fades away in hues of grey and blinding white.

**Avengers Tower**

When you wake your whole body aches with exhaustion. You may have slept long and deeply, but the way your mind wandered through a life that wasn’t your own, through memories entrenched in this jumper leaves a physical effect that can’t really be explained. Charles Xavier told you he believed your body reacts as though it physically got up and walked through time, space, and mind to experience those things, and that’s definitely how it feels. Worse than that though are all the feelings still swirling in the back of your mind, the love, hope and friendship, contrasted with the loss, pain and grief, it was so much, more than usual in just one object. 

As you sit up on the couch, your mind slowly pieces together the memories you walked through and how they fit into your actuality. The woman in the kitchen, the friends at the school, and the gravestone, they’re all apart of the one person’s life you didn’t want to know about. You reach a hand out to grab at the collar of the jumper because now it feels suffocating to be so close to _him_ and just as you realise whose world you were in, _he_ walks into the room.

“Is that my – are you – you’re wearing my jumper,” Peter manages to stumble out, his brown eyes wide and his mouth open in surprise as he looks at you. 

“Bucky gave it to me, I thought it was Wanda’s, if I knew I –”

“It’s okay, Y/N, you needed it.” Peter interjects, his voice soft and his tone nice, it causes your eyes to flicker upwards to catch his gaze.

Peter’s eyes are earnest and kind. Bright with a desire, a sense of purpose, to fix and solve and make things right. They remind you of someone you don’t want to remember. Still you can’t ignore their likeness. Peter is genuine and warm and perhaps with a slight saviour complex because he believes, just like she did, that his abilities give him a responsibility. But you know the truth. 

Abilities, talents, skills – they are what get you; they make you a target, where you get kidnapped, tortured and exploited. Sometimes they are what destroy you or even worse, kill you. 

And now seeing Peter in this way, having him humanised to you, it’s something you can’t ignore. It takes over the idea you had of him, the one where he was just another person who took something from you, and it makes him complicated. Now you have experienced those parts of his life that show you he is so much more than that initial idea you had. He is a person; he is a student, a nephew, a friend, and a loved one. 

Peter has his Aunt, the one he told you about, and somehow now she seems so real and important. The fact that she can’t bake, but dances with a beaming smile on her face and love in her tender hands, you felt it when you were there in that kitchenette in Queens. Or his two best friends who are witty and supportive and love him in a way you have long forgotten how to be loved. It’s unconditional and unwavering, it’s friendship and you miss it.

The thing that really got to you, the thing that really makes you see this boy standing here watching you ever so patiently, is discovering that he has suffered immeasurable loss, just like you. His parents, like yours, his Uncle kind of like yours. It gives the two of you more in common than you’d like. 

Peter is a person first. And maybe even one that is worth knowing. Still you can feel yourself scrambling to put those walls back up, to push him away from ever being anything to you, and to get this jumper off your skin. Because Peter is earnest, brave and so good, and that someone he reminds you of, makes you fear if you get too close you will relive that loss all over again. If you allow him to be _something_ to you, to step into the crevices around your heart, your world, you fear the darkness inside of you will taint his light. It’s happened before, that pain in you has torn through kind hearts, splattered their blood on concrete walls and watched as their eyes turned lifeless. You bring pain and destruction with you and Peter doesn’t need more of that, hell no one here does, but he might be the only one you can keep at a distance, he might be the only one you can have a choice in saving.

It’s worth trying.

So you do what you know how. You put that wall back up and you push him, you push him hard. 

“It’s not ok,” your voice is sharp like daggers and you stand off the couch, tugging his jumper from your body as you go, it’s a relief to be free of it. 

Peter says your name, it sounds like a question or a warning or maybe its both. Either way it won't stop you. 

“I don’t need this,” You snap holding the jumper out towards him, and you watch as his brows furrow in confusion before he takes it from you carefully in one hand as if to avoid your touch. 

There’s a part of you that you need to embrace. It’s the twisted part, the one that wants to blame Peter, the one that leaves you tasting the bitterness of jealousy and betrayal in the back of your mouth. It burns, but you decide you can’t ignore it. You let it flood your thoughts with its acidity, Peter has all these things you don’t that you know you should, and you have to let that overpower your similarities. You can’t get close to him. And he needs to know this.

“I don’t need anything from _you_.” The words come out of your mouth in a voice that doesn’t feel like your own, it’s harsh and horrible, and reminds you of the people you were rescued from. But this is how it needs to be. It’s for the best, for the both of you.

What you don’t see as you walk away from Peter is the look of defeat on his face or the tub of ice cream he had tucked behind his back. It was suppose to be a surprise, a peace offering, but now he leaves on the glass coffee table to melt, and to be forgotten. 

 


End file.
